What a Difference One Night Makes
by dyeyell
Summary: In a different universe they hadn't met before that first time in the lab, but in this universe, all it took was one night of drunken sex to change everything. (Sherlolly; Parent!lock; AU) [For: JenlockPilgrim]
1. It Happened One Night

**AN****: I own none of this. I make nothing. All I get is the satisfaction of your lovely reviews. So you know, do the thing.**

This fanfic was created for JenlockPilgrim (of tumblr & AO3 fame) for a Sherlolly secret-Valentine ficathon. So if anyone owns anything, she basically owns this story.

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Spinning.

Soooo... much... spiiinning.

Molly wasn't quite to the point of black out drunk, but it was a close thing. She giggled into her sixth drink? No _seventh_ drink.

It tasted like lemons.

Lemons.

_Lemons_. That was a weird word.

Leeemooonsss.

Lee moons.

Lemmings. She giggled.

"It tastes like lemmings." She said this to her friend Cecilia, or rather the spot where Cecilia had been, but now there was only empty space. Molly frowned. "_Lemmings_." She worked her mouth around the word, but it felt wrong. "No, it tastes like _lemons_." She giggled into her drink for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

The music was loud in the small two up two down, but Molly had managed to find a quiet spot in the bedroom upstairs. There weren't too many people at the party, but Molly still preferred a bit more solitude than what was being offered downstairs.

She tipped her head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling. It was white. Or off-white. _Eggshell_ white? She had never bothered to find out, or care really.

Molly shook her head at her meandering thoughts, but regretted the action immediately as it made her head swim. _God _she needed more to drink. Even with alcohol coursing through her veins all Molly could do was _think_. The thoughts were about wall colours and strange sounding words, but she didn't want to think at all.

She looked around the small room then down at her drink and sighed. She was becoming maudlin again. And today of all days should have been a happy one. It should have been perfect.

She was a doctor.

_Almost_ a doctor; she had certainly finished her Foundation Training. Now all Molly needed to do was specialize. Maybe she would pick something interesting like forensics.

It didn't matter though. None of it mattered. It should have been a good day, but her father had died a little less than a year ago.

Cancer.

And now she was alone.

_Really_ alone.

The last of the Hoopers.

Molly tilted the drink and gulped down the sugary lemon concoction. She needed another drink. She did _not_ want to remember the day anymore and what it should have been like.

She stumbled up from her seated position on the floor and lurched across her bedroom. The music was still blaring and laughter rang throughout the house, but Molly ignored it all as she made her way to the tiny kitchen on the ground floor. She grabbed a beer and proceeded to finish it as quickly as possible.

She burped and swayed a little on her feet. It was bad to mix beer with hard liquor, but she wanted to forget, and alcohol was nature's remedy for a shitty day. She giggled at her stupidity and grabbed another beer.

From Molly's position in the kitchen she could see Cecilia sitting on her boyfriend's lap snogging the living daylights out of him as they ignored everyone else.

One of her friends was bouncing around the sitting room regaling the rest of the group with funny medical school stories, while his wife, brother, and the brother's boyfriend were laughing from their seats on Molly's small sofa. She noticed one of her friends and his girlfriend were nowhere to be seen.

Molly sat on the sofa's arm to stop herself from getting dizzy. She watched her friends laugh and act silly as she tried to follow along with their jokes. They had all met their first year studying medicine, and formed a tightknit study group. So they knew what a bad day it was for Molly and why she didn't quite join into the fray.

She looked around at the different couples and grimaced. Everyone had managed to conveniently pair off, except for Molly, who was the odd man out. She tried to never let all the cute coupleness bring her down. She was happy they were all happy. Really she was.

Oh who was she trying to kid, Molly _hated_ being alone. The death of her father had only emphasized how much she yearned for companionship, even just simple no-strings sex would satisfy Molly.

She was alone.  
So alone.

_So_...

_alone_...

Molly steadily drank her beer and continued watching her friends. Despite the music, Molly heard the doorbell ring throughout the tiny house. She stumbled slightly to the front door while her friends continued to laugh raucously at some dirty joke that had just been relayed using carefully placed napkins and a finger. Molly turned the knob and opened the door to find her lost friend and his girlfriend, and apparently they had picked up a stray, because a third scruffy looking figure stood behind them in the shadows.

Molly frowned. "Mark you're late."

Mark laughed. "I was already here love. Had to step out for a call, couldn't be helped. But I did run into my old mate," Mark gestured carelessly behind him, "at the pub nearby." Mark said all this with a bit of a drunken slur as his girlfriend leaned heavily onto him.

Molly stepped back as the couple made their way into her father's hou-

_no_...

_her_ house.

She turned back to the strange man still standing in the shadows of her porch. She couldn't tell for sure from the lack of light, but he seemed a bit out of it.

"Come on William, step lively," Mark called out as he settled on the floor beside the other couples.

William scowled, and Molly wasn't sure if it was the directive or the thought of entering her house that made him seem so standoffish.

Molly smiled invitingly at the new addition to the party, and he finally stepped out of the shadows and into her home.

Maybe it was the liquor talking, but Molly had never seen a more beautiful man in her entire life. He was quite tall and fit with dark curls and intense blue eyes. If it hadn't been for the mix of vodka, gin, and beer, she may have felt a bit shyer and tongue-tied, but liquid courage enabled Molly to put her best foot forward.

"Sooo... _William_ is it?" She tried to put on her most beguiling smile as she wavered back and forth in front of him. Or maybe it was William who was wavering? One of them was swaying anyway.

At the mention of his name, the man grimaced briefly at Molly before he began looking around the small sitting room. "Obviously," he retorted, glancing briefly in her direction, before he continued to scan the room. "Why else would Matthew call me by that name."

"Mark."

William turned to her with a raised eyebrow. "What?"

"Mark," Molly repeated. "His name is Mark. So clearly if you can't remember his name, you can't expect me to not ascertain that what he called you was correct as well." Molly paused to make sure what she had said made sense, then nodded. She swayed a bit. Bad idea that nodding. "You also keep making faces at the mention of your name."

A smile spread across his face, and for the first time Molly felt like he was really looking at her. "I go by Sherlock." A look flashed in his eyes, but was gone before Molly could make out what it meant. "I really haven't been William in a long time."

Molly pondered that statement for a moment as Sherlock glanced briefly down to her red dress and bare feet. "I understand completely," she said, placing a hand on his arm. She heard catcalls from her friends, but she gave them the middle finger with the hand not holding onto Sherlock. They laughed at her gesture and continued to chatter on about whatever they had been talking about.

"Do you?" He looked her in the eyes with an intensity that took her breath away, and she stepped closer to him.

"I haven't been Margaret for almost a year now," she whispered. And for a brief moment, Molly thought of the one person who had aways called her by her full name.

"Your washroom is upstairs?" It seemed more of a statement than a question, but Molly nodded then grimaced. Nodding was still bad. "I'll be back." And Sherlock slowly walked up the stairs as if ascertaining they were where they were supposed to be.

Molly meandered among her friends as she waited for Sherlock. She laughed at their stupid jokes and finished her second beer (_ninth_ alcoholic drink), but Sherlock had yet to come down.

With a quick glance around at her friends, Molly made her way upstairs, but not before Mark yelled out, "You show William what you're made of sweetness!" Everyone cracked up laughing and Molly restrained herself from rolling her eyes lest she make herself dizzy again.

The bathroom door was open and clearly Sherlock was not in there. That, of course, left her father's ro-

_no_...

_her_ room.

Dim light could be seen from the crack in the slightly ajar door, and Molly slowly pushed on the knob. Sherlock lay on the center of her bed staring up at the _eggshell_ white ceiling.

"Your father's house. Now yours." His voice was like liquid molasses, and Molly couldn't help the swooping feeling low in her stomach.

"Pardon?" She hadn't really paid attention so much to the words as to the sound of his voice.

Sherlock sat up a bit until he was leaning on his elbows in order to look directly at her. "This was your father's house, but he's dead now and you've taken it over. Though this wasn't the house you grew up in, because _that_ one was sold off... most likely after you went away to university."

Molly felt her heart constrict and her breath shorten. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she tried to maintain her, albeit drunken, dignity in front of this strange man laying on her bed in her father-

_No_!

_Her_ room!

Sherlock tilted his head at her, and for a fleeting moment Molly wanted nothing more than to smack him. But the moment passed quickly as she took in the way Sherlock seemed to cling to her bed as if centering himself. She frowned at him and took a step closer.

"Are you _drunk_?" Molly forgot all about his terrible comments of a minute ago as she began to giggle.

Sherlock snorted and laid back down on her bed. "Well I wouldn't be the one to talk as you smell very much like the pub I left earlier."

Molly rolled her eyes and really did make herself dizzy, so she moved closer to the bed until she was able to sit beside the apparently quite drunk man. His breath wafted across her face and she could detect a slight minty smell. "Did you use my _mouthwash_? Did get _sick_ in my washroom?" She accused.

Sherlock smirked and closed his eyes. "I needed to clear my mind palace, and I failed to calculate the sweet spot for my alcohol intake."

Unable to control herself, Molly giggled at the clearly ridiculous man on her bed. Apparently, her own alcohol intake had finally hit the sweet spot that she had been searching for all night. She giggled again at the thoughts that ran through her head.

"_Mind palace_?" With the alcohol pumping through her system, Molly threw the concept of personal space out the window and leaned over the prone figure on her bed. She studied his face closely as thoughts seemed to flicker across the contours of his sharp cheekbones and prominent cupid's bow mouth.

"Yes," his voice rumbled, and she could feel it in her chest as close as she was. "It's where I store everything I know." He opened his eyes and seemed unsurprised at her extreme closeness.

"Do you know quite a lot?" Molly whispered as she stared into his beautiful light blue eyes.

"_Yes_." Sherlock reached up and slipped his large hands into her hair. He stared at her for a few moments before he pulled her down for a kiss. It was tentative at first, but Molly maneuvered herself until she was laid out along his length and their kisses grew more passionate.

As Molly lay on top of a man she barely knew and had only met an hour ago, the rational part of her mind that still managed to make itself known through her drunken haze protested her behavior as very unladylike. The rest of her that wanted to forget the day, and that knew the amount of alcohol she had consumed would allow that to happen, ignored the rational part in favor of drunken sex with a beautiful stranger.

As Molly felt the telltale sign of arousal in the man beneath her, she heard him mumble something she couldn't quite make out. "_What_?" She questioned between kisses down his long neck.

"I'm deleting this in the morning," he said again as he slowly moved Molly off of him and onto her back.

"Okay, whatever." Molly closed her eyes at the feel of Sherlock awkwardly unbuttoning her shirt.

Molly woke the next day with a headache so intense that she could barely move except to throw up in the wastebasket conveniently located near her bed. She struggled to remember what all happened the previous night at her party as she took in her nude state. She certainly _felt_ like she had had sex, but she couldn't recall which of her friends she could have possibly slept with seeing as they were all in relationships. Deciding that her memory loss was probably for the best, Molly slowly made her way to her washroom to get ready for her day.

Six weeks later Molly had thrown up four days in a row before she admitted that the lack of a period and tender breasts probably warranted a trip to the chemist, even if she was on the pill.

Two days later, after some discrete questioning of a few of her friends, Molly determined that she had not actually slept with any of them, but with a friend that Mark had brought to her party.

Two days after that Mark relayed that the 'friend' was named William '_something or other_,' and that he knew him from his days back in secondary school on the academic competition circuit. Mark maintained that he was really more of an acquiantance and didn't know how to contact him, but he directed her to the nearby pub where he had run into him.

Five days later, none of the pub employees could recall the man in question.

Tall, dark haired William was nowhere to be found and Molly had no clue what to do. After a week of contemplation, a week spent staring at her _eggshell_ white ceiling in what used to be her father's room, Molly decided that she was keeping the baby.

It wasn't exactly the _best_ timing, but after feeling so alone following her father's death, the thought of not being alone with a baby all her own made Molly smile. It might have been a little selfish, but Molly knew she would love her child more than anything and that loneliness wasn't the worst reason to have a baby.

Four weeks later, Molly contacted an estate agent and began looking for a place with a second bedroom.

* * *

**AN2**: I just want to make clear that both parties were drunk at the time they engaged in sexual congress, and that given the choice while sober, Molly would have definitely still had sex with Sherlock. Sherlock on the other hand, I'm not so sure, but he was certainly attracted to her, so who knows.

I hope I didn't offend anyone or cause any triggers with this plot device, but it had to occur for the sake of the story. I could have chosen for Sherlock to be sober and for him to just delete the event, but I felt it would be better if both parties were drunk, so not to open that flood gate of a sober person taking advantage of a drunk person.


	2. The First Meeting Again

Molly rolled her eyes as her five year old son poured salt into his morning juice.

"Archie," she sighed. "Why on Earth are you pouring salt into your orange juice?"

Archibald Hooper lifted his dark curly head and gave his mother an imperious look. "Mummy," he intoned seriously. "I _need_ to know how this makes my juice taste."

Molly attempted to stifle her smile, but she couldn't help but beam at her precocious son. He always just _needed_ to know something. He was _so_ smart and _so_ curious. He reminded her of herself as a child. In the back of Molly's mind she wondered if his father William was the same way when he was a boy, but she quickly dismissed that thought.

"_Well_, young man." Molly she put her hands on her hips and managed a stern face even though she could see Archie wasn't fooled. "You mustn't keep adding salt to your foods like that as you grow older or it becomes a dangerous game of hypertension when you reach middle age."

Archie grinned widely at his mother, his big brown eyes alight with glee. "Yes, mummy!" And he continued to pour salt into his juice.

Molly watched with a smile on her lips as he took a sip of his completed experiment only to make a face and spit it back out into his cup. Molly laughed and soon Archie was rolling around the floor giggling at his own silly display. "It tastes yucky mummy!" He howled between fits of the giggles.

"Okay young man," Molly said as she scooped his cup up and deposited the failed experiment down the drain, "it's time for you to gather your school things for your first day back."

She heard the soft patter of tiny feet come into the kitchen behind her, and she turned to face her son. "But mummy, you will be _soooo_ sad when I go away, and I don't want you to be sad." Archie stood before Molly in the kitchen and looked up at her with his bottom lip stuck out. Molly pursed her lips to stop herself from giggling.

Her son amused her to no end with his attempts at manipulation. She would say he got it from his father, but Molly wasn't sure if personality traits could be genetic, and she had no idea what his father was like.

"Baby, I told you last night before bedtime that it's my first official day of work. I can't stay here with you." She pulled him into her arms and held on tightly. "Mummy wants to be with you very much but I have to work. I still love you though. Okay?"

"Okay," Archie sighed, and Molly put him down so he could gather his school things.

As Molly washed up the breakfast dishes, she ran the lab and morgue procedures through her mind. She knew Dr. Stamford had mentioned something about clearance, but for the life of her Molly couldn't remember if it was a reference to _her_ access or someone else's. Oh well, she was bound to figure it out when whoever it was showed up.

After dropping Archie off at school, Molly made her way to St. Bart's for her first official shift as a Registrar Specialist for pathology. It was the third of January and Molly felt very much like it was a new beginning for her. The previous week had been spent filling out paperwork, learning procedure, and getting a tour of the facilities from Dr. Stamford.

Molly's thoughts wandered as she changed into her scrubs in the locker room. It had been a struggle raising Archie on her own, but with the money left over from her father's life insurance and with the help of her friends, she had managed to finish her specialization in pathology. Archie had been the icing on the cake with his sweet baby smiles that transformed into toddler laughs. She never regretted for a moment the choice to keep him. She only wished that she could have tracked down William...

But she again shut down that thought as she made her way to the morgue. Any thoughts of William and what could have been was dangerous territory. She wasn't sad for herself about his absence, but for Archie. Archie, who was so clever and beautiful, deserved a father, or to at least know who his father was. He hadn't mentioned the lack of a dad yet, and Molly prayed he wouldn't ask about it until he was old enough to understand (or more like until Molly could explain the actions that led to his conception). Damn it! She was thinking about it all again and getting herself down. This new year and new job should have been her only focus at the moment, but Molly couldn't help but wonder what William would have thought of his son.

Dr. Stamford came into the morgue for Molly's first solo autopsy at St. Bart's, but left soon after she finished the last set of sutures. As Molly began cutting into the head of her second autopsy, she almost jumped at the sound of the morgue doors hitting the wall.

It was like déjà vu.

That was the only way to describe her immediate reaction to the man that made his way into her morgue. He was beautiful and Molly felt the sudden swooping sensation of attraction in her stomach. His dark curly hair and bright blue eyes seemed to distantly trigger something, but for the life of her Molly couldn't figure out what her mind was telling her. His long elegant coat certainly didn't remind her of anybody she knew. Molly continued to look closely at the man, unable to say a word since her mind seemed to have shuddered to a stop, but his eyes slid right over her as he examined the room. The door burst open again and this time Molly did jump a little. A familiar figure strode into the room and headed straight for the first man.

"Can you not do that, yeah?" The salt-and-pepper haired man said. "It'd be nice if you recognized my authority on this case at least once."

"Oh _Lestrade_, we both know I'm the authority on matters of murder." The curly-haired man said snidely to whom Molly now recognized from the newspapers was DI Lestrade.

"That's not what I meant Sherlock Holmes and you know it."

Molly felt that same sense of déjà vu again at the mention of the first man's name, but shook it away as she remembered Dr. Stamford mentioning a Mr. Holmes the day before and how he had open access to the morgue and lab. Something about being a detective, but not really, for the NSY and some sort of high clearance.

Sherlock just rolled his eyes and turned his assessing gaze onto Molly. "Dr. Hooper, pull out Mr. Thompson so that the Detective Inspector and I may take a look."

This startled Molly out of her stupor as she realized that the man, Sherlock, had referred to her by name and title even though her badge was on her lab coat, which she wasn't wearing as she performed the autopsy. "How-"

"You're clearly new, as I have worked with all the other pathologists in the past," Sherlock interrupted with a roll of his eyes as a haughty look crossed his face. "I know from a change in the schedule that a new pathologist was starting this week and as you are about to begin cutting into that man's head," here he waved casually at the corpse on the table, "I can correctly assume you are not an assistant."

Lestrade eyed Sherlock from his place beside the door. "But how did you know her name?"

"Well it's obvious of course," Sherlock said imperiously with another roll of his eyes. Molly was pretty sure his eyes would fall out with the way they kept rolling, and Lestrade would probably help them along as the older man frowned.

"No, it's not obvious Sherlock." Lestrade stepped further into the room and took a closer look at Molly.

Molly shrank back under the sudden scrutiny, but was soon distracted again by the man who had somehow moved even closer to her without her noticing. "For a DI of supposed excellent observational skills, you observe very little. Surely you did not miss the lab coat with the attached badge hanging by the door?"

Now Molly was quite sure that DI Lestrade would disregard all rules and regulations in order to strangle his counterpart, but she was surprised when the man only grumbled under his breath about "consulting detective consulting about a view of the inside of a cell."

"The body then Dr. Hooper?"

Molly was brought out of her musings by the 'consulting detective.' Molly nodded her head and carefully pulled a sheet over Mr. Wainwright, and proceeded to the drawer for Mr. Thompson.

Sherlock took one look at the body before promptly turning around with a snap of his long coat and striding back out the morgue doors. "It's clearly a heart attack Lestrade," he called over his shoulder. "Please refrain from calling me out on anything less than a seven."

"Sorry about that," Lestrade said with a slight grimace and nod in Molly's direction.

"It's alright," Molly replied as Lestrade took his leave as well, though in a much less dramatic fashion.

And that was basically how Molly's first few weeks in the new year went. Archie would perform one of his 'experiments' on his breakfast, or _her_ breakfast. Then she would drop him off at his school before making her way to work, where at some point during the day Sherlock Holmes, the great consulting detective, would dramatically throw the doors open to the morgue or lab and demand access to bodies and microscopes before he would stride out again in similarly dramatic fashion. At some point Molly found herself supplying the man with body parts meant for study by the medical school students. She also found herself with an embarrassingly serious crush on a man that was clearly so very brilliant, but then again, Molly had always been attracted to highly intelligent men.

And then there was that niggling doubt at the back of her mind that there was something she was missing. There was just some piece of a puzzle she couldn't solve. Molly dismissed any thoughts of doubt as soon as they entered her mind. After all, she hadn't had a crush of any sort since she became pregnant with Archie.

But she needn't have worried, for as brilliant as he was, Sherlock Holmes also seemed oblivious about normal human interactions; He noticed her lipstick but completely misconstrued her attempt to ask him out, and later proceeded to insult the size of her mouth in front of her boss and some strange man. However, Molly was the optimistic sort and gave herself a pat on the back for her first romantic foray in many many years, even if it had failed spectacularly.

So it was that a few weeks after meeting Sherlock Holmes, and the same day she was shot down for a date, the man in question picked up a stray in the form of Dr. Watson, whose first name she didn't quite catch, and he began to intrude on her work days less and less.


	3. Side Parting

Molly stared up at her lovely blue ceiling in the predawn light.

_Blue_.

Thoughts of intense blue eyes flitted through her mind, and that was all it took as she felt moisture gather down below.

Her right hand snaked under the covers and into her underwear. She imagined his long fingers slipping into her body where they touched places that she couldn't quite reach with her smaller digits. There was a delicious friction as she moved her fingers in and out of her pussy with thoughts of Sherlock's strong fingers manipulating her. But it wasn't enough, so Molly reached up into her shirt with her other hand and began pinching her nipples. She continued to dip her first two fingers inside herself. The need for _more_ making her move her hand harder, striving to mimic the feeling of a hard cock, but falling short.

Frustrated, Molly pulled out her fingers and spread some of her wetness around her clit. But not too much, she needed that delicious friction again. Her middle finger found her swollen nub and began to ease some of the tension she felt as it rubbed in tiny circles. She rubbed faster and faster, and an exquisite ache filled her body. Her hips began to move in time with her finger and Molly moaned at the tightening in her cunt.

She thought of Sherlock leaning over her, and it almost seemed real as flashes of the detective flickered through her mind. She could see so clearly the sweat dripping off his shoulders as she reached up to grip his thick curly hair. And she could practically feel his rough callused fingers gripping her hips while he pistoned in and out of her in a rapid fire staccato. It was all so real. He was right there. His hard cock was giving her that friction she needed and the ache was building more intensely than ever. Her hips moved in counterpoint to his and he held her close so that her breasts were pressed tightly to his bare chest. The ache was so intense, but she wasn't quite there yet. And she could make out his warm breath on her cheek as he pressed kisses to her temple. His whole body shuddered above her and he moaned in her ear as his orgasm hit him. The feel of him coming drove Molly over the edge and that delicious ache became an explosion in her cunt as she shivered with the force of her own orgasm.

The images of Sherlock, so realistic, faded away into the morning gloom.

At the sound of movement in the flat, Molly jumped up out of bed to wash up in her loo before Archie could come into her room like he did most mornings.

As she washed her hands, Molly stared at herself in the mirror over the sink. She looked tired. Or maybe it was sad. She certainly missed seeing Sherlock Holmes everyday at work, and that had only occurred a few weeks before his companion came on the scene. Molly _did_ receive the odd text requesting lab results and body parts, so there was that.

"Mummy!"

Molly smiled at the slightly muffled voice of Archie outside the door. No doubt his little face was smushed up against the doorframe. "Be right out sweetheart, go change into your school clothes."

"Okay mummy! But I want ice lollies for breakfast because I didn't get my morning kisses!"

Molly laughed at the blatant manipulation from her five year old. Six in less than three months she thought wistfully. A lump formed in her throat but Molly quickly finished washing up and got dressed for her day.

Archie was sat at his usual place. He was scrutinizing something quite closely with his magnifying glass and Molly feared that he had brought another bug to their breakfast table. But as she came closer she realized there was no bug, and what he seemed to be studying so closely was a clump of his hair, most likely gained from his hairbrush.

"Mummy?" Archie inquired, still bent over his 'specimen.'

"Hmm baby?" Molly bustled around the small kitchen, half her attention on making pancakes while the other half waited for Archie's inevitable questions.

"Why is my hair curly but not yours?"

The question was oh so innocent, the simple curiosity of a child really, but Molly felt her heart speed up and a nervous jittery feeling take over her body. She looked up and saw her reflection in the microwave. Her straight light brown hair seemed to mock her, and for the first time Molly wished her lovely hair away in lieu of Archie's dark brown curls. Casting around for an answer that would satisfy her very perceptive son, Molly alighted on a medical journal she left on the counter the previous night.

"Well..." she began slowly, working her way to the answer. "Do you remember when mummy told you about genetics?"

"Yes, mummy." Archie was now singularly focused on her, and it unnerved her that the look seemed to remind her of someone she just couldn't place. As if she needed to think on William in her critical moment of barefaced lying.

"Well, sometimes genes like curly hair don't show up in everyone of a family," she said as she licked her drying lips and attempted to give her son a smile not mired in panic. "Sometimes, you get genes that give you such beautiful curls because you are very very lucky."

Archie tilted his head to the side as he seemed to deeply contemplate her answer. "Aren't you lucky mummy? What about your hair?"

Molly reached up a hand to her ponytail with its usual center parting and sighed. "Would you like to fix mummy's hair for me?"

"Yes, mummy!"

Archie hadn't done a terrible job with her hair, and it had certainly distracted him from asking any further questions. Her hair was brushed into a side swept messy bun with a side parting. She had always worn her hair parting down the middle, but Archie said he liked it better this way and Molly didn't want to disappoint him.

After a long few hours of cutting up severely decomposed dead bodies, Molly stood staring at her meal options in the canteen.

"What are you thinking? Pork or the pasta?"

Slightly startled, Molly looked up at the sound of a deep voice she recognized. The voice belonging to a man she had been longing to see for the past few weeks and who fueled her morning fantasies. "Oh, it's you."

Sherlock scanned the contents of the food trays before them with an air of barely contained disdain. "This place is never going to trouble Egon Ronay, is it? I'd stick with the pasta. Don't want to be doing roast pork, not if you're slicing up cadavers."

Molly didn't even need to ask how Sherlock knew she had already done autopsies that day. He was simply brilliant, and a bubble of excitement coursed its way through Molly as she thought on the fact that he had paid enough attention to deduce her again.

"What are you having?" A small part of her hoped that they could lunch together.

But in a bit of a dismissive tone Sherlock thwarted her plans once again. "Don't eat while I'm working. Digestion slows me down."

Molly let that bit of cherished information about Sherlock Holmes sink in despite her disappointment. He attempted to get access to a couple of bodies, which a small part of her suspected was the case when he came up to her. But she had to apologetically let him know that the paperwork she spent an hour working on had already gone through.

"Changed your hair."

"What?" The sudden topic change threw her off and a picture of an excited Archie attempting to put her hair in a hair band came before her mind's eye.

Sherlock seemed almost awkward as he gestured to her hair. "The style, you usually part it in the middle."

"Yes, well..."

"Well, it's good. It... suits you better this way." Sherlock's compliment brightened Molly's day considerably, though it was really due to Archie, she thought. She smiled to herself as she turned away from Sherlock to help him with his latest case. She was now intent on letting Archie know that she was _also_ very very lucky.


	4. Coffee with Jim

It was a split second decision. Well, not really. The internet makes it difficult to make split second decisions, but the choice to join Jim for coffee had been pretty abrupt. She certainly hadn't started up her blog to attract male attention. Surely the kittens on the page would have driven them away, but Jim worked in the hospital and had apparently noticed her. If she were being honest with herself, Molly just wanted a date. Almost six years of meals being shared with only one tiny adorable child meant that Molly was up for anything, and being asked out for coffee was certainly better than fetching coffee for a very beautiful but very oblivious man.

Molly wasn't fooling herself. No matter how much she yearned to believe Sherlock meant all his compliments, she knew that they were nothing more then a way to get into her lab. If only lab were a euphemism for her pants. She huffed out a laugh as she made her way up through the hospital for coffee with Jim.

She made her way into the canteen and looked about. There were a few doctors and nurses loitering about chatting away over their lunches. At a table in the very center of the cafeteria sat a man with short dark hair and dark eyes. He looked up at Molly with a hopeful look in his eyes and stood to greet her.

"_Jim_?" She asked, a bit unsure, even though he had risen at her entrance. He nodded and made his way over to her.

"Hey there," he said, giving her the once over, which made her blush. "Your nose is definitely cute."

Molly giggled at his reference to the message he sent her on her blog. He wasn't bad looking. Quite cute really. And with years of celibacy under her belt, Molly squared her shoulders and followed Jim from IT over to the coffee pot. He poured her a cup before handing it over and making himself one.

Molly felt nervous about making small talk, but she endeavoured to sound like she did it all the time. "So you work with computers. What's that like?"

Jim laughed. "It's mostly me having to fix hard drives because some med student downloaded porn from a corrupted site. You can imagine how mortified they are when I have to report the incidents... with accompanying pictures as proof." Molly laughed along with Jim at his description of his job, and she felt instantly at ease from his easy banter.

He laughed along with her as she described some of the crazy things she saw in the morgue, and he even appreciated her stories about Sherlock striding in with his coat flapping dramatically.

When her break was over, Jim gave her a hug and she shyly kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks for inviting me up for coffee. I had a lovely time."

"Hey," Jim smiled, "I had a good time too. You tell the best stories, especially the ones about Sherlock." Molly giggled. "Can I message you again soon?"

"Yes, of course. And if I download any corrupted porn, I'll make sure to call you." Molly grinned as Jim laughed at her joke.

They parted ways at the canteen door, and Molly skipped down happily to the morgue.

Molly had a very strict policy about Archie meeting the men she dated. She didn't want her son to get attached to anyone that could turn out to be temporary, and she certainly didn't want to parade a string of men in front of her son. Of course, Jim was the first man she was bringing home since having Archie, but Molly was still enforcing the policy.

"But mummy," he whined, his face scrunched up and his lower lip protruded in a pout, "I don't _want_ to go!"

"Now baby, you like Mrs. Carlton. You always have fun with her." Molly continued applying make-up while her frustrated son kicked his feet back and forth while he sat on the bathroom counter. Toby, the new addition to the family, swiped a paw at Archie's feet, but her son ignored the cat.

"I _know_ I do mummy," he whined. "But I want to stay with you tonight and watch the singing."

Molly lifted her brow at this statement. Archie hated when she watched _Glee_. He always said the songs were boring and tended to climb all over Molly so that she was forced to record the episodes and watch them after he fell asleep.

"Well baby, Mrs. Carlton has a tv. I'm sure she would love to watch the show with you."

Archie, who was positioned right next to Molly, turned to her and grabbed her face with his tiny pudgy hands. "But I want to watch it with _you_ mummy. I don't like it without _you_."

Molly felt herself choke up at her sweet baby boy, and she pulled him into a hug. "I don't like it without you either baby."

"I'll miss you mummy," Archie said quietly, his voice muffled into her shoulder.

Molly squeezed him tighter. "I'll miss you too baby. And I promise to come get you as as soon as mummy's friend leaves."

"Will you cuddle me mummy?" He asked with a pout so prominent, she could feel it through her blouse.

"Of course I'll cuddle you tonight baby." Molly pulled away from him. "Mummy loves sharing cuddles at sleepy time."

"Okay." His voice small, Archie lifted up a tube of lipstick to Molly, "Get more pretty mummy."

Molly laughed at his sweet words. "Isn't mummy pretty enough?"

At this Archie smiled wide. "You're _beautiful_ mummy."

Molly beamed at her son. She was very lucky to have him.

She _hated_ Sherlock Holmes.

_Hated_ him.

The man had _no_ sense of appropriate behavior and had completely embarrassed her in front of Jim.

Molly took a deep breath as she made her way to the locker room. She sat on a bench in front of her locker and thought about what had just occurred. It didn't look good for Jim. Sherlock didn't really make mistakes like that, and certainly Jim leaving his number behind did not bode well for any sort of relationship.

Molly had no problem with homosexuality, but she suspected a gay man would probably not want to date _her_, a woman. But then she wondered why he would lead her on like he did. Was he really gay? Or maybe he was bisexual? She would have no problem dating anyone bisexual. She liked to think she was pretty open to all forms of sexuality.

But leaving his number like that... That was wrong no matter his orientation. You just didn't do that to someone. Molly groaned and lay down on the bench. She covered her head with her arms and attempted to prevent the headache she could feel coming.

She would have to break it off with Jim. Whether or not he was into women as well as men, she just couldn't tolerate the behavior he displayed in the lab. That way lay heartbreak. She had seen enough of cheating partners and spouses in the last ten years to last her a lifetime, and she was not keen to be cheated on by someone she met at work. The rumor mill at Bart's was bad enough without adding her own failed relationships to the mix.

So okay, she didn't _hate_ Sherlock Holmes.

She just really wanted to slap him sometimes.


	5. Mycroft is Definitely the Smart One

"Look up the definition of a fool and you'll see me," Molly muttered bitterly.

According to John, who had called her about the whole situation, Jim from IT was really James Moriarty; he was a psychotic criminal mastermind intent on making Sherlock jump through deadly hoops.

Molly shivered. The thought of that madman in her home, so close to Archie's room. If Molly were the type to bring men around her child...

Her hands hurt, and she looked down to see the edge of the kitchen counter digging painfully into her hands from her tight grip. Breathing out slowly, Molly let go of the counter and turned to her sitting room where Archie was building a city out of Legos. She quelled the urge to run in and just hold him to her. After all, Archie was perceptive and would know something was wrong.

If Molly ever came across Moriarty again, she would kill him. She was a pathologist, so she knew exactly how to get away with a murder. If Molly were a less rational person, she would blame herself for the whole affair. But she knew that was ridiculous. The man had been after Sherlock, and she had only been a convenient means to observe the detective unawares. She would blame Sherlock, but she knew that wasn't rational either. There was no sense in blaming the victim for the crimes perpetuated against them, even if that victim was Sherlock Holmes and seemed to attract all manner of danger.

Molly watched Archie turn a stack of random Lego pieces into part of the Millineum Falcon. If anything ever happened to him... She cut out that line of thought right away. Molly would just have to make sure that nothing and nobody ever hurt her baby.

"Are you sure you don't want to come with mummy sweetheart?"

Molly was steaming out the wrinkles from the black dress Archie had helped her pick out for the Christmas party. He said he liked it best because it was sparkly on top, but not too sparkly. Of course, he then went on to pick out a pair of huge sparkly earrings to go with it, and Molly had to reconsider her decision to let her six year old son pick out her clothing.

"You need grown-up time," Archie chirped from the floor as he played with the box of Christmas bows he had brought into the bathroom. "And Mrs. Carlton is _so_ lonely at Christmas. I saw you _all_ day mummy."

Molly smiled sadly. It was only a few months ago that Archie was clinging to her desperately as she dropped him off at school. Now here was her big boy learning to be independent. She hated it. She blamed his friends at school for the independence, and she blamed Mrs. Carlton for introducing the concept of grown-up time after Archie accidentally walked in on her changing while she babysat. Lord knows why that woman needed to change her clothes. Molly conveniently disregarded the fact that her son had spilled juice all over the poor woman.

"But it's Christmas and I will miss you, and you've never met my friends from work." Molly finally finished steaming her dress and proceeded to fix her hair and makeup.

"All of your friends are _boring_," Archie moaned.

Molly smiled at her son as he proceeded to color coordinate Christmas bows on the bathroom floor. "Not my friends from work. They help solve crimes."

Archie scowled at her from the bathroom floor. "I don't _care_."

"Don't be rude," Molly said sharply.

"Sorry mummy," Archie mumbled.

"Besides, I thought you wanted to be a detective." Molly finished putting on her lipstick. It was a beautiful shade of red that she would never normally wear.

"That was _last_ year," Archie said, even though Molly knew he had wanted to be a detective just the day before, but his childlike disregard for the passage of time didn't deter him. "I want to be a pirate now."

"Well baby, I will make sure to be on the lookout for pirates at my job then." Molly looked down at her son to find a mildly disturbed look on his face. She quickly bent down to place a soothing hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong baby?"

"Do you cut up pirates mummy?" Archie whispered fearfully.

"Oh no, no baby!" Molly quickly leaned forward and enveloped him in a tight hug. She sometimes forgot that Archie was bright enough to understand what she actually did at work. "I meant if they visit me for cases."

Archie let out a breath of relief and leaned into the hug. "Okay. Tell me when a pirate visits mummy. I want to meet one."

It wasn't until she was attempting to cajol Archie to attend the party with her that Molly realized she had never actually told her new friends about him. Molly was a very private person and very protective of Archie, so she didn't bring up having a child unless it was relevant.

Molly also just hated when other parents tried to commiserate with her about the strains of parenting; frankly she adored her son and all his peculiarities, so she had nothing to complain about. Molly also hated being forced to look at pictures of other people's children, so she assumed others (especially non-parents) felt the same way. So Molly refrained from whipping out her phone and showing the latest pictures of Archie.

Speaking of people she should inform about her status as a mother, there was her new friendship with Greg Lestrade. They had one day just started talking about things other than cases since he came into her morgue quite often. He was very easy going and didn't give her shit about having dated a psychopath. Another lovely addition to her pool of friends was Mrs. Hudson. Having delivered and picked up body parts from 221B Baker Street recently, Molly had formed a tentative friendship with the older lady.

She still didn't know John Watson too well, but whenever Sherlock was in the lab or morgue without him, the detective would complain about why he was absent. Speaking of Sherlock... What they were _exactly_ was up for debate. They technically weren't colleagues since he didn't actually work for the hospital or for NSY like Greg, but they didn't spend time together outside her job. In fact, the Christmas party would be her first glimpse of Sherlock outside the artificial lighting of the hospital. Whenever she had to drop off or pick up the body parts he experimented on, either Mrs. Hudson or John were there to intercept on his behalf. Molly was starting to feel like he was purposely avoiding her.

Of course, after Moriarty, maybe he was.

This all culminated into several startling facts: the first fact being that besides Dr. Stamford and the team that hired her, no one at her job actually knew she had a child, including two women she was quite friendly with. If she included Sherlock and John in her group of new friends outside the hospital, three out of four of her friends were detectives in some capacity and had yet to deduce that she had a son. And to emphasize again, the object of her affection who was supposed to be the best detective in the world, had yet to figure out her secret. Hell, it wasn't even a secret if you discounted the fact that Molly simply failed to mention her son's existence and had not purposely hidden it. One thing was for sure, Molly's life was strange.

As Molly made her way toward Baker Street, she thought that maybe it was time to let the cat out of the bag. She wasn't ashamed, but she did hope they would all use some common sense and not question the whereabouts of the father. Of course, knowing Sherlock the way she did, Molly wasn't too optimistic of his not making a prat of himself. On the upside of telling Sherlock about her son: he would know her life did not in fact revolve around his need for body parts, and access to the lab and morgue. Maybe he would even begin to see her as a real person (a woman) and not however he saw her currently.

Molly was confused. She sat on her bed still dressed in her fancy black dress, which apparently was compensating for the size of her breasts. Molly stared off at her wardrobe, not really seeing it or anything else. She didn't know how to feel about anything that occurred at Baker Street. On the one hand, Sherlock was a complete and utter git. It made her hand itch just thinking about slapping that look off his face. On the other hand, he had apologized. Furthermore, it seemed like he really meant it.

Molly may not have known everything about Sherlock, but she knew him well enough to say that he did _not_ apologize... to anyone ever. As far as she could tell, not even John had received the common courtesy of an apology for some of Sherlock's shitty behavior. Of course, she was getting this mostly secondhand from Mrs. Hudson and Greg.

And really, Molly should have known better. Sherlock, as beautiful and brilliant as he was, was also an arrogant prat with no social skills to speak of who also thought he was always right. On the bright side, Molly now knew that the great Sherlock Holmes wasn't always right. He didn't even realize the gift was for him until he read her note. She certainly wasn't telling him about her son after that disaster of a party. Let the arrogant berk deduce it from the lint on her sleeves. Refusing to think on Sherlock anymore, Molly stood up from her bed and began changing to go pick up her son from Mrs. Carlton's.

As Molly was driving back home with a passed out Archie in the backseat securely fastened in his booster, her mobile started ringing. Molly pressed the button on her Bluetooth headset. "Hello?"

"Ah, Molly, Mike Stamford here."

"Yes, Mike, what can I do for you?"

"It seems Sherlock Holmes has to identify a body, and it's very important that he do so tonight."

Molly glanced at Archie in her rear view mirror. "Let me guess, you're out of town and Marcus is busy with family stuff and I'm the only one who can come in?"

"Well, Marcus is willing to come in for a quick ident, but you know how Sherlock gets."

Molly smiled ruefully at that statement. "Yeah, I know how he is."

"I know you have the little one, but-"

"Don't worry about it Mike. He's asleep and he'll be fine down in the office for that time." Molly began making her way toward St. Bart's.

"Thanks so much Molly. And you know if you ever need time off, Marcus or I will cover you."

"I know Mike. It's fine. I'll see you after the holidays."

"Bye Molls." Molly cringed at the shortening of what was already a nickname, and turned off the headset.

She would have to go in for the body id, but thankfully those took less than an hour, half an hour really. She wasn't looking forward to bringing Archie with her though. The one time before she did bring him was when she had forgotten something. In the three seconds it took her to open the lab doors, she lost him. In a panic, she searched everywhere (including the canteen) until she thought logically about the type of boy Archie was, which was when she found him struggling to open one of the drawers in the morgue. Needless to say, Molly avoided bringing him to work.

She carefully placed a sleeping Archie onto the couch inside the office, which also doubled as a viewing room inside the morgue. He was out like a light and Molly knew he would be okay, but she switched on the two-way intercom in the room so that she could hear him if he needed her.

The body that needed identifying was already laid out with paperwork in tow. Molly had checked to make sure everything was in order and had been surprised by the level of brutality directed at the face. It almost seemed like someone was trying to erase the facial structure of the woman so as not to be indentified, yet they had failed to get rid of the fingertips. It must have been psychological reasons then, she mused, but Molly couldn't really identify any other violence directed at the victim during her casual perusal. She wished she could take a further look at the body, but she had Archie with her and this one was destined for a government facility. It was probably why she had been called in despite the day and time. It was also probably why Sherlock was involved.

Molly stood before the sheet covered body in her ironically cheerful Christmas jumper. Her Christmas was turning out to be sort of shitty that year, but at least Archie had had a good day. He had received lots of gifts from her and a few of her friends in the know, plus he apparently had a lovely time helping Mrs. Carlton make Boxing Day gifts for her flower shop employees. Just when she was thinking about what she would be buying at the shops during the Boxing Day sales, Sherlock strolled into her morgue followed closely by a man she didn't recognize.

"The only one that fitted the description. Had her brought here – your home from home," said the strange man. Considering the nature of the case, and where the body was going next, Molly assumed the man must be a government employee. A higher up of some sort judging by the way he dressed.

Sherlock's eyes were solely on her as he stood before the covered body. "You didn't need to come in, Molly," he said in what Molly thought was an apologetic tone.

At this, Molly gave a slight smile. "That's okay. Everyone else was busy with... Christmas." Molly awkwardly gestured to the body between them. "The face is a bit sort of, bashed up, so it might be a bit difficult." And she proceeded to pull the sheet down revealing the face of the nameless woman Sherlock was there to identify.

"That's her, isn't it?" The well-dressed man questioned.

Molly quickly glanced at Sherlock for his reaction, but his face had set into a look that didn't portray anything he may have felt. "Show me the rest of her."

Molly grimaced then smiled awkwardly at the men in front of her as she pulled the sheet down further until the entire body was revealed. Sherlock quickly surveyed the body before abruptly saying, "That's her." He immediately turned and strode away quickly before pushing through the morgue doors.

The other man was left standing alone before Molly. "Thank you, Miss Hooper," he politely intoned.

Even though Molly knew better than to ask, curiosity burned through her. "Who is she? How did Sherlock recognise her from," Molly paused, unsure of how to phrase what she wanted to ask, "not her face?"

The man simply smiled politely at her before he too turned and left the morgue.

Molly covered the woman back up and proceeded to put her in a drawer with paperwork attached. Just as she was washing her hands, she heard a cry of "mummy" through the intercom. Molly quickly moved to the office and picked up a crying Archie. He calmed down as she rocked his body back and forth.

"Sh sh, mummy's here baby," Molly gently murmured. "I know it's scary waking up in a strange place, but we'll be home soon."

Molly gathered her coat and purse with one hand while she firmly held onto Archie with her other. She was backing out of the morgue making sure that everything was closed up tight with a final glance around, when the weight of the morgue door was lifted away from her. She looked up and into the face of the mysterious man who had accompanied Sherlock into the morgue. She noticed he was staring intently at Archie, and she moved away uneasily.

"My son was asleep in the office," she nervously said while glancing around for signs of Sherlock. "I don't normally bring him to work, but it's Christmas..." she trailed off as the man continued to stare at her son.

With a quick shake of his head, the man looked Molly in the eyes. "I'm Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock's brother."

Molly felt some surprise at that bit of news. Mycroft didn't exactly look like Sherlock, or she supposed it was the other way around since this man was clearly older. But given his stoic facade and dress sense, Molly could easily see how he would be related to the consulting detective. He certainly gave off the same sense of disdain that Sherlock carried around with him.

"Well I can't say I'm not surprised. I didn't really think of Sherlock as having a brother," Molly genially replied.

"Yes, well, Sherlock is _full_ of surprises." At this Mycroft Holmes pointedly looked at the sleeping boy in her arms.

Molly felt confused at whatever he was trying to imply with that look, and she tightened her hold on her son. "What do you mean Mr. Holmes?"

"Only that, Sherlock didn't mention you have a son Miss Hooper."

"He doesn't _know_ I have a son. And at any rate, why would he mention something like that to you?" Molly felt even more confused by the direction of the conversation, and she mentally willed the man before her to leave her be so that she could go home.

"I suspected as much. I presume that your parents are both deceased and that you are an only child," Mycroft asked, though it came out as more of a statement rather than a question. Molly stiffly nodded. She could tell then and there that this man was related to Sherlock Holmes. She shuddered to think what the parents were like. "I also see that you've had no contact with the father beyond the," Mycroft paused as if to find the most delicate way of proceeding, "initial meeting."

Molly narrowed her eyes at the man before her. She had had enough, and after getting the wind knocked out of her sails from the little brother, she was _not_ going to allow the big brother to imply whatever he was implying with his statement. "Mr. Holmes, I'm sorry, but I refuse to discuss this personal matter with you. I may be friendly with your brother, but you and I are _not_ friends, and I need to get my son home." Molly turned and began to walk away from the infuriating man.

"Oh Miss Hooper," he called out, and Molly cringed at the superior tone in his voice that reminded her so viscerally of his brother. She stopped walking but refused to turn around. "Would you be interested to know the identity of your son's father?"


	6. Funny How Much Havoc One Pirate Can Make

For the second time that night, Molly found herself staring unseeing at her wardrobe. This time, however, her thoughts were in complete disarray. Mycroft Holmes' words kept coming back and hitting her in the gut, which Molly blamed for the queasiness she felt.

_Molly slowly turned back to Mycroft. Her tightening grip causing Archie to move restlessly until she loosened her hold. 'What?'_

_'I said Miss Hooper,' Mycroft responded as he strolled slowly toward her, his umbrella casually tapping at the floor like an unnecessary walking cane, 'would you be interested to know the identity of your son's father?'_

_Molly swallowed thickly before answering with a small, 'Yes.'_

_Mycroft finally made his way over to her and stared down at her son for a moment before looking back up at her. 'What was the name of the man you drunkenly slept with?'_

_Molly didn't even bother wondering how he knew she was drunk. He was a Holmes after all. 'His name was William.'_

_Mycroft seemed to smirk in triumph at the name, and Molly could only assume she had confirmed whatever he had managed to deduce. 'Tell me Miss Hooper, how well do you know my brother?'_

_Now Molly was not stupid, so the moment he mentioned Sherlock, the pieces of the puzzle that had been nagging at her for so long fell into place. 'No- not well," she whispered._

_'Indeed,' Mycroft intoned. 'Seeing the look upon your face, I may assume you have finally seen after all this time what I saw within less than a minute. So you may not be surprised when I tell you that Sherlock's full name is William Sherlock Scott Holmes. And aside from a few facial features and I assume the eye coloring, your son looks quite how Sherlock looked as a child.'_

Soon after the revelation of the identity of Archie's real father, Molly had left with assurances that Mycroft would not give away her secret, but that he would require a DNA sample for verification.

Molly had felt jittery and unbalanced ever since. She had to pull over twice while driving to get her shaking under control. As soon as Archie was safely tucked away in bed, Molly had sat on her own bed to let the events of the past few hours wash over her. She simply couldn't believe that she hadn't noticed the similarities before. Besides the mouth, eyes, and softening of facial features, Archie was practically a spitting image of a young Sherlock Holmes. His looks combined with his personality, which Molly had never thought before could be a genetic trait, were so eerily similar to the consulting detective that she knew anyone who had spent time with the both of them would have pinpointed their relationship.

At that last thought Molly snorted. Everyone except her would have seen the connection. But Molly gave herself some slack. After all, who would have suspected that the man who kept everyone at a distance and turned his nose up at human interaction, would have had sex (presumingly drunken sex if her old friend Mark was to be believed) with the likes of her.

And now Sherlock's brother knew the truth of the matter and it was only a matter of time before Sherlock would know as well. Molly shuddered at the thought of having to have _that_ conversation with the man. From the look on Mycroft's face as he assured her of his silence, she knew he would not spill her secret until she had had a chance to speak to Sherlock herself. And oh boy, she had no idea what to say to the man. How does one bring up having a long lost child to someone, especially someone like Sherlock Holmes who, up until his apology that night, Molly suspected of having very little social acuity.

It would all have to be handled delicately. Most important was making sure that her son was okay. As much as Archie deserved to know his father, Molly wasn't sure if Sherlock would want to know his son. And she refused to allow Sherlock to hurt her (their) son that way. But at the same time, she didn't want to keep having to lie to Archie. And unlike _her_ apparently, Archie was perceptive, and if he ever accidentally met Sherlock he would easily see a connection to the man.

Molly felt like her head was swimming with all the different ways in which Archie meeting Sherlock could go wrong. She knew it was futile to worry over situations that may never come to pass, but as a mother who had constantly worried if she was enough for her son, the thought that Sherlock would reject Archie in any way worried her to no end.

Molly slowly breathed in and out when she felt herself becoming overwhelmed by the enormity of the situation. There was nothing to it but to sit down and carefully plan how she would approach the situation. She would write out a list of everything that needed to be done, and probably a plan for every eventuality as well.

Molly stood suddenly with a ferocious need to get everything worked out for the best for everyone involved, but at a quick glance to the black Christmas dress that hung on the back of her bedroom door, Molly lost her nerve and decided to wash up instead.

She would draw up her plan of attack after a good cathartic cry in a hot steamy shower.

Bright and early the very next morning, a courier delivered a package from one Mycroft Holmes. Inside was a DNA swab kit and a note that the courier would return in two hours to pick up Archie's sample. Molly would normally have protested the presumptive act, but having spent most of the night planning how to go about things, she knew it was best to start the whole process early. Besides, she wasn't leaving it all up to Mycroft and whatever shadowy figures he worked with; Molly planned to run her own samples in the lab. It would be easy enough to get a sample of Sherlock's DNA the next time he came into the lab and she fetched him coffee. Molly smirked. It finally paid to have Sherlock Holmes view her as some sort of personal assistant.

One year to the day that she first met the man (excluding the night of Archie's conception which she couldn't remember), Sherlock Holmes came into the lab to x-ray a phone, and Molly managed to get a sample of DNA from his coffee cup.

The next day Molly had the day off and Archie was at school, which was lucky for her, as she received another package from Mycroft through courier. Inside were two smaller boxes. One was square shaped and had Archie's name written on a gift tag attached to a large bow. 'A late Christmas present for my nephew' was also written on the tag which Molly promptly tore off and threw into the fire that was lit in her sitting room fireplace. The other small box was more rectangular and came attached with an envelope wielding her name.

Clearly the sample Mycroft had all but demanded of her had been analyzed, and Sherlock was confirmed as Archie's father. It would take five more days for her own sample to come in, but Molly decided to trust Mycroft and allowed herself to shakily sit down.

Sherlock Holmes was Archie's father.

William Sherlock Scott Holmes was father to Archibald Adam Hooper.

Sherlock _Bloody_ Holmes. A _father_ to _her_ son.

Then came the thought that Molly had dared not think. Molly had had _sex_ with the man she was enormously attracted to and couldn't remember the experience. _Bloody_ hell her luck.

Once Molly was able to gain control over her emotions again, she turned back to the gifts Mycroft had sent over. She would let Archie open his gift when he came home from school, so she turned instead to the envelope attached to what she assumed was a gift for herself. Molly set the box aside and opened the envelope. She pulled out a letter and quickly scanned through it before she began choking on her own spit.

Apparently Mycroft had seen fit to gift her and Archie with half a million pounds each. The money came in the form of two trusts set up in their names. Molly would be able to access her trust at any time in order to provide for her and her son. Archie wouldn't be able to touch his trust until he turned 24, though Mycroft assured her in the letter that all his educational expenses would be paid for through the trust once he began attending university. Mycroft further explained in the letter that the trusts he was giving her and Archie had been set aside specifically for this use '_in case Sherlock ever managed to procreate_' (his words exactly). So Molly put out of her mind, at least temporarily, the notion of refusing the money.

Molly nervously reached for the rectangular box, unsure of what new insanity she would be gifted with. Inside the box she found a silver locket. When she opened it up she found a small photo of a boy with two older people on the left side. The boy looked like Sherlock and the people must have been his parents, though they seemed too nice to be the parents of Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes. The other side contained a picture she recognized as being of herself and her parents when she was a little girl. She felt tears prick the corner of her eyes as she recalled the picture being taken right before her mother was killed in a car accident. It was the last picture of her family whole and happy before everything was turned upside down.

Molly wiped at her face when she felt the tears roll down. She assumed Mycroft took the photo from the archives of the local paper in her childhood town. It had been used when the report of her mother's death made the news. The photo held bittersweet memories, but she appreciated the effort he, or whoever he had working for him, put into making the gift. Molly set the aside the locket with the letter and went to the kitchen to make a cuppa. She certainly needed it after the emotional roller coaster she just went through. After putting away everything from the package, except the gift for Archie, Molly went to pick up her son from school.

Archie chattered loudly about his day on the way up to their flat, and Molly listened attentively as always. As soon as the small boy got through the door and saw the gift lying on the kitchen table, he turned to Molly and exclaimed, "Mummy! Is that a gift for me?!"

Molly laughed at his exuberance and nodded her head. "Yes baby, it's a late Christmas gift from one of mummy's new friends."

The little boy squealed in excitement as he proceeded to tear off the silver bow and green wrapping paper. "Look it mummy," Archie exclaimed as he held up what looked to be an old fashioned telescope. "It's for pirates!" And he proceeded to jump about the room examining everything through the lens of his new pirate telescope.

Inside the box that Archie left lying haphazardly across the table Molly found another note: "I noticed in most of the pictures Archie draws in class that he likes pirates. _He_ wanted to be a pirate at that age as well. The telescope is in fact a genuine pirate artifact and belonged to him, though I dare say it rightfully belongs to Archie now."

Molly couldn't believe the nerve of Mycroft Holmes to have spied on her son like that. It was one thing to look up pictures of her parents in a newspaper, but it was quite another to visit her son's school without her permission. Molly made a note to speak with Mycroft about the matter the next time she saw him. He had written down his number in case of emergency in her letter, but she felt like it would be more satisfying to relay her feelings in person.

At the sound of giggling, Molly turned to see Archie examining Toby up close, the telescope practically shoved in the poor cat's face. Toby got up at the intrusion and sauntered out of the room, but Archie soon forgot the cat when he realized he could point his new 'toy' outside the window.

"Mummy, that lady outside has a limp. You think it was an accident? Like when Mrs. Carlton hurt her foot in the doors." Archie was still peering down at the street through his telescope when Molly had a vision of a young Sherlock Holmes doing the same thing. Between his temperament, looks, and now the gift of a bit of Sherlock's childhood, the fates seemed hell bent on making Archie a miniature of his father.

Molly smiled.


	7. What's with Cats Getting Into Bags

Molly had yet to get up the courage to let Sherlock know about his son. Her concern for Archie's well-being was paramount in her mind of course, but there was also the nagging bits of Molly's mind that was concerned about how terribly Sherlock would treat her when he found out she had had their son. It didn't help matters that Molly let more and more time fly by since her discovery of Archie's paternity.

Mycroft was no help on the Sherlock front, but he was a surprisingly attentive uncle despite never meeting Archie. When Molly had pointed out to the man that he had overstepped himself by contacting Archie's school, Mycroft apologized by getting her son accepted into one of the most prestigious primary schools in London. It had been just the place Molly wanted her son to attend, but the lack of connections and funds meant she was stuck with the local primary.

So while Molly failed in talking with Sherlock about Archie, she did initiate a sort of friendship with his brother; If you could call short terse phone calls and random couriers with mysterious packages a friendship.

At some point during Sherlock's strange case at Baskerville, if Greg's texts and Mycroft's veiled comments about ridiculously immature brothers were to be believed, Molly decided she was being completely cowardly and ridiculous and resolved to tell Sherlock about his son.

It was funny how fate worked.

Molly was stood on the front steps of 221B Baker Street contemplating the slightly tilted door knocker. She had worn her best dress, heels and had had her makeup and hair professionally done. It was all ridiculous really and wouldn't stop Sherlock from making snide comments, but she felt confident and capable and that was the goal.

Just as she lifted her hand to knock at the door, a sleek black car pulled up behind her. Molly noticed the way it seemed to be just waiting there, so she turned around to see if maybe the driver needed help. One of the blacked-out back windows rolled down and a familiar umbrella handle beckoned her over. Molly rolled her eyes at the dramatics of the man in the car before her.

"Miss Hooper, I suggest you get in the car. Sherlock is not home, but he will be soon and we have much to discuss." This was all said with haughty disdain, and Molly wondered for the umpteenth time why she ever did anything this man said when he used that tone with her. But she got into the car anyway and it took off.

Mycroft seemed completely at ease in the seat next to her as if he kidnapped people off the street quite often. Molly couldn't help but fidget and she thought that to the outside observer they must be a wonderful study in contrast. Him, cool and collected, and dressed in dark expensive clothing. Her, nervous and jumpy, and dressed in a bright blue and white flower print dress.

As the car eased through London, never once encountering traffic, as impossible as that seemed, Mycroft turned his head slightly and began to speak at a clipped pace. "I know that you have yet to inform my brother of his status, but that will have to wait Miss Hooper. Something has come up of national importance, something dangerous, and I'm afraid that what you need to inform him of will throw everything off balance and put your and young Mr. Hooper's life at great risk."

Molly was surprised by this news, for she figured Mycroft was eagerly anticipating his brother's reaction. She frowned when what he said sunk in. "What do you mean Archie's life would be in danger?"

The man next to her sighed. "I can not relay all the information, because most of it is classified, but in essence, James Moriarty has entered the playing field again," Mycroft hesitated as Molly noisily sucked in a breath, "and if the paternity of your child comes to light, suffice it to say he will most certainly become a target."

Molly tried to steady her rapid heartbeat at the news that 'Jim' was back. She slowly breathed in and out while Mycroft faced forward. "Well apparently _my_ plans are out the window. What do I do to help Sherlock?"

At this, Myceoft fully turned his head and Molly thought she saw a flicker of admiration in his eyes. "At this juncture, you do nothing. Sherlock must not be made aware that we communicate, or he will most certainly question the nature of our acquaintance."

"So I just wait for him to come to me... _on his own_?" Molly asked, her very countenance giving testimony to the fact that she found that scenario highly unlikely.

"Precisely Miss Hooper. You must not give the game away until all the pieces are set up." At her still doubting look he added, "If you desire to help, perhaps you can discretely offer up your services, and leave it up to Sherlock to take you up on said offer."

Molly thought this over. She certainly didn't want to put Archie in any danger, so telling Sherlock about him was out, but she couldn't stand back and let the father of her child, the man she lov-

Molly stopped. She had certainly surprised herself at what had almost come to the surface of her mind. _Did_ she love Sherlock?

A lot of time had passed since that disastrous Christmas night that started with Sherlock insulting her and ended with her pretty much confirming his part in Archie's existence. And she had certainly had a crush on the man since that first day in the lab (she still refused to include their first sexual encounter as their first meeting).

The more she thought on her growing feelings, the more she realized that she did indeed love Sherlock Holmes. She was _in_ love with the consulting detective, and no amount of mental backtracking was going to change that fact, because not only did she see him in the parts of Archie that weren't from her, but she saw him. She _really_ saw him, especially that day in the morgue with Mycroft. There, she saw the apology in his eyes, and then she saw how affected he was over the body of that woman.

As Molly continued to think on the whole situation, Mycroft sat quietly beside her. "I _will_ be there for Sherlock if he needs me, and if it comes up naturally I'll let him know that I'm here for him. But," she added, turning to look at the passing scenery, "I would be very surprised if he took me up on my offer. We're not like that. We're not really friends."

Molly could feel Mycroft's eyes on her as she stared out the window. "No you're not, but I dare say he needs you as one."

"Yes he does," she whispered.

Molly did get the opportunity to let Sherlock know she was there for him, but she still doubted he would ever use her help. It was just that he had reminded her of her father so much that it felt like the perfect opening. There was no help for it though. If Sherlock wanted her help, he would ask for it. Coming at him again would only make him suspicious of her motives, and Molly had not spent the last few weeks purposely hiding all traces of Archie for the whole thing to fall apart.

After a long day of dealing with Sherlock and catching up on her work, Molly was ready to go home. Mrs. Carlton had graciously agreed to watch Archie for her until she got off work, and Archie was now used to periodically falling asleep there and waking up at home.

She was just pulling on her coat and exiting the lab when a familiar voice spoke out of the void causing her to jump slightly. "You were wrong, you know." At this Molly turned to face the only other person she cared for almost as much as her son. "You do count. You've always counted, and I've always trusted you. But you were right. I'm not okay."

Molly could see the strain of the past weeks' events on Sherlock's face. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Molly... I think I'm going to die," he said with such fear, for him at least, that Molly felt moved to envelope him in a hug, but she restrained herself.

"What do you need?" Molly asked. She was on pins and needles as she waited for Sherlock to share with her why he seemed so forlorn.

"If I wasn't everything you think I am - everything _I_ think I am - would you still want to help me?" He stepped closer to her, and Molly felt herself rise to the occasion.

"What do you need?" She repeated.

"You."

As he stepped closer, Molly needed to remind herself that this man was desperate and needed her help, not whatever else may have popped into her head the closer he moved to her. "_Okay_," she let out breathily. Molly cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. "Okay. Where do we start?"

Sherlock slumped in relief and glanced around the lab. "I need a body. A specific body. I don't know the name, but it should be someone who looks like me."

Molly panicked slightly and frowned at him. "You don't want me to help _kill_ someone do you?"

Sherlock abruptly turned back to her with a slight look of alarm. "Of course not Molly. This person should already be dead."

Molly looked at him considering. "I'm not sure if that's better, but I will start looking."

Sherlock went back to pacing before her. Molly recognized it as his active thinking mode. "You'll need to track it down at one of the local hospitals. It could be anywhere in London. Then you'll need to have it moved here. _Discretely_," he emphasized. "It's important there be no report of its disappearance and it must not be traced back to you." Sherlock stopped pacing and ran an agitated hand through his hair as he stared off at the lab equipment. "It's very important this not be traced back to you Molly. Moriarty is a very dangerous man."

Molly stepped up to the man before her. He always seemed larger than life when he was in his element and deducing a case, but in the quiet of the lab trying desperately to thwart a psychopath, Sherlock was just a man. It unnerved Molly a bit that this great man could be brought to the edge. She placed her hand on his arm to steady him and lend her support. "I'll be careful Sherlock. I have contacts at every hospital in London. We _will_ make this work."

Sherlock turned and looked down at Molly, as if seeing her for the first time. He smiled at her, so that his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. "Yes. We _will_ make this work."

If there was one thing Molly could say for sure about Sherlock Holmes, he would have made a fantastic actor. Molly had gone home to be with Archie and to contact her med school friends located throughout hospitals all over London. At some point around two o'clock in the morning Molly managed to track down the body, and a picture sent to her mobile confirmed the likeness. It was actually uncanny how much the dead man on her mobile phone looked like Sherlock. It sent a shiver down her back thinking that it could really be Sherlock if the plan did not go well.

Sherlock had made Molly memorize a list of various plans and their code names. He had also given her all the information she would need to fill out the false paperwork for his 'autopsy'. Molly feigned surprise when he grudgingly admitted that his real first name was William.

At some point during the planning Sherlock mentioned that he would need to lay low at her place for a few days before heading off to do whatever it was he needed to do. Molly felt a bubble of panic begin to rise in her and she slyly attempted to ascertain if there were anywhere else he could stay. Sherlock had given her a strange look before Molly had covered herself by saying she thought he would be more comfortable somewhere _not_ her home. Sherlock had reassured with a pat on the shoulder that he would be fine, and Molly had pursed her lips in a tight smile.

Mycroft, _of course_, had chosen that moment to become scarce, so he was no help at all. Molly was left with the only other option she had, which was to tell Sherlock the truth. Of course, she would wait until he had finished whatever he planned on doing on St. Bart's rooftop. No need to add more crazy to the mix; lives were at stake.

Sherlock had layed low in the hospital till night had fallen. He had changed into a overly large sweatshirt, a pair of loose sweatpants, and a pair of scruffy sneakers. Molly had added a cap from the lost and found to cover his curls, and Sherlock predictably complained about head lice.

Molly had worked out with Mrs. Carlton to bring Archie over later that night, which gave Molly three hours to explain everything and get Sherlock acclimatized to having a son before said son walked through the door. The same door they now stood in front of as Molly slowly breathed in and out.

"Molly, really, anytime would be nice before someone in your building notices who I am," Sherlock said tiredly.

"Yes, right." And Molly opened up her private world and her door to the brilliant consulting detective.

Sherlock had only taken a of couple steps into her flat before he stopped cold. As Molly turned to close the door, she didn't even need to guess what was causing Sherlock to halt. Every inch of her home was a testimony to the fact that a small child, a boy, lived there. From the tiny shoes on a rack by the door to the Legos in the form of a pirate ship on the coffee table. There were framed pictures of childlike artistic endeavours on the walls and two forgotten cereal bowls left on the kitchen table.

Molly slowly walked around Sherlock until she could look up into his face. If he were a robot, she would say he had short-circuited. He just seemed to stare off at nothing, but Molly knew he was simply processing what he had never seen in her before. She was a mother.

Sherlock finally seemed to snap out of it and slowly looked down at Molly. She fought the impulse to look away in guilt. "Why didn't you tell me Molly?" He whispered.

It was the first time she had seen him so... practically speechless, upset, and anxious all rolled into one. "It was never really relevant," she shrugged. "And you never deduced it, so I didn't say anything. I usually don't tell anyone." Molly felt like she was making excuses and she knew the next bit would probably hurt him, if his reaction to her simply having a son was any indicator.

Sherlock began to walk around the sitting room, looking closely at every drawing and child's book lying around. He bent down to take a closer look at one of the homework sheets left on the couch. "Archie?"

Molly smiled. "Yes, his name is Archibald Adam Hooper. After my father," she added in a murmur.

Sherlock nodded and moved to the coffee table. He bent down to look at something that seemed to have rolled onto the floor and froze. Molly sucked in a breath when she realized what Sherlock must have seen, and she cursed herself for not thinking about it sooner.

Sherlock reached out a hand and slowly rose to stand bringing up a long thin clearly antique telescope with him. "Where did you get this Molly?" His tone was low and dangerous, and Molly knew she would have to quickly explain things.

She licked her suddenly dry lips as she thought of the speech she had prepared ever since she had found out that Sherlock was Archie's father. "Would you take a seat Sherlock and I'll explain everything?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and continued to stand.

"Okay." Molly let out a breath. She went over to a drawer and pulled out a packet she had created specifically for that moment, then went to stand in front of Sherlock. "I'll just start at the beginning okay? It's easier that way."

"Yes, please _do_ Miss Hooper," Sherlock voiced harshly.

"Yes well," Molly swallowed thickly. "It was September of 2002. Me and some friends of mine had just finished Foundation training and we were throwing a little party at my house. My father had died within the past year and I... I just didn't want to think about the fact that he wasn't there to see me finish something so important. A- and I was living in his house that he had bought after I went to university and... and I just wanted to forget. So I got drunk. Very very drunk. And one of my friends, Mark Vernon, brought a man over to the house that he competed against while in secondary, and that he had coincidentally run into at a nearby pub. I don't really recall what happened that night, but Mark told me his friends name was William..." Molly had seen Sherlock stiffen at the name of her friend, but his eyes widened considerably at the mention of his first name.

Molly continued on when it didn't look as if Sherlock was going to contribute anything. "According to my friends, William and I talked for a bit before he went upstairs to use the loo. I had stayed downstairs for awhile, but he never came back down. I then proceeded to go up after him, and I didn't come back down either. They said... um... there were some very... ah, sexual noises. Lots of moaning and 'oh gods' from my room." Molly could feel how hot her cheeks had gotten and she took a breath before continuing. "According to Mark and a few others, we were both extremely drunk and they found the whole thing quite funny." Molly cleared her throat as she glanced off to the side. Sherlock stood in front of her, his brow lifted at her descriptions.

Molly could feel her heart beat hard against her rib cage and she could feel heat rush into her cheeks at the thought of the next part. "At some point my friends left and then later William left as well. I woke up naked, alone, and hungover. I didn't remember anything except that I had a house party and drank _a lot_. I knew I had had sex, and I knew it must have been consensual with my friends just downstairs. In fact, I thought it had been one of them. I didn't remember a William being there... Mark was the one who told me the name later."

Weary from the strain of relaying her story, Molly moved to sit on the sofa. "Eventually I realized I was pregnant. I hadn't even considered it really. I was on the pill and I was just so busy... But when I finally figured it out, I went around to my friends to find out who I could have been with, and Mark pointed me in the direction of the pub where he met William. No one there recalled him, and I made sure to talk to every employee there."

Sherlock slowly sank down onto the coffee table before her, putting the telescope beside him he steepled his hands below his chin. "Did you consider getting," he hesitated, "getting rid of it."

Molly smiled gently at him. "I considered it briefly, but it was never really an option for me. I've seen enough abused and murdered children in hospital to believe in pro-choice, but I..." she grasped around for a way to describe how she had felt at the time. "I was alone Sherlock. My father had just died. My mother died when I was a little girl. I was an only child of two only children whose parents were dead. When I thought of holding that little baby in my arms, of having another person be my family after so long of having no one or just my dad, who had been so sick for so many years... I just couldn't let that go."

Sherlock nodded slowly, and looked into Molly's eyes, a brief look of compassion crossed his face. "I understand."

Molly gave him a grateful smile. "So I did attempt to find William, but I certainly wasn't equipped to do that and I would soon have to juggle a pregnancy, then a new baby and additional medical training. I sold my father's one-bedroom house and bought this flat with the money from the sale and his life insurance. After I gave birth, I juggled Archie and work. My friends from med school were lovely and helped where they could, but they were just as busy as me. I eventually met Mrs. Carlton, who actually owns a flower shop near St. Bart's, and she took over babysitting duties whenever I needed her."

Molly slowly let out a breath. "I eventually finished all my training and started working at St. Bart's. I met you, of course," Molly said with a small smile, "and I became friends with some women at the hospital. Only Mike Stamford and a few HR people knew I had a kid, and it just never came up with anyone else. I'm a pretty private person, and I can't really go out with a small child at home, so I-"

"_Moriarty_?" Sherlock asked in alarm.

"The one time he came over here I had cleared the front area of anything Archie related. No sense in driving away a potential boyfriend so soon," Molly snorted. And Sherlock huffed out a brief laugh. "He may have suspected I had a child, but he never brought it up and he _never_ met him." Sherlock nodded and Molly continued on. "After I became friendly with Mrs. Hudson and Greg, I-"

"Who is _Greg_?" Sherlock asked her sharply.

Molly rolled her eyes. "DI _Lestrade_," she emphasized.

"When did he start being _Greg_?" Sherlock asked her with narrowed eyes.

"Oh for heaven's sake Sherlock, he's my _friend_. When did Dr. Watson become _John_?" She asked him with a raised brow.

"Touché Molly Hooper." And Sherlock dipped his head for Molly to continue her story.

"_Anyway_, I decided it was time for me to come clean with my new friends. I really did want you all to meet Archie, but I couldn't exactly bring him into the morgue without him causing trouble." Sherlock smiled at that bit of information, and Molly refrained from telling him that Archie reminded her of _him_ in the lab. "I was actually going to tell everyone at the Christmas party, but..." Molly trailed off and a look of guilt crossed Sherlock's face. "Yes, well I didn't get around to it. Later that night I had just picked Archie up from Mrs. Carlton when Mike called about identifying a body. I brought Archie with me and put him to sleep in the office next to the morgue."

Molly paused and looked down at the telescope that Sherlock had casually laid down. "I was leaving the morgue with Archie asleep in my arms when I ran into Mycroft still outside the morgue doors. Right away he saw what I hadn't."

A blank look came over Sherlock's face, and Molly sighed. "He saw the similar facial features and the hair. He asked me the name of the father... and I just knew what he was going to say. He may have easily deduced it because of the physical similarities, but I _know_ Archie." Molly smiled widely as she thought about her son, and Sherlock quirked his lip at the fond look on her face. "He is beautiful and clever and curious. He just wants to _know_ things. He'll mix bubble bath soap with lotion to see what happens and he'll pour salt instead of sugar into my morning tea to see if mummy likes it better."

Sherlock's smile slowly grew as Molly described Archie. "He brings home dead bugs to examine under his magnifying glass and he won't give me a moments peace when I watch something that bores him." Molly chuckled. "He gets bored _so_ easily."

Sherlock laughed and Molly swore it was the first time she had ever heard him really laugh, not in mockery but in joy. And that was when she knew everything would be okay. So feeling Sherlock was ready, she opened the envelope in her hands and pulled out a picture. "This is Archie."

She held out the picture, and Sherlock held his breath and took it with a shaky hand. He let out a breath as he looked at Archie for the first time. "Mycroft ran DNA tests, and they confirmed what he had already deduced... what I had finally figured out. That _smart_ sweet little boy... he's your son Sherlock."


	8. The Best Gifts

Molly sat and watched Sherlock stare at the picture. She didn't know if he realized it, but he was gently caressing it, and the image he presented almost brought Molly to tears. She hadn't realized that the past half year of keeping her secret had weighed her down so much. She felt lighter.

"He's beautiful," Sherlock murmured, and Molly smiled widely.

"He is." She contemplated the man before her. "He has your nose."

Sherlock smiled, his eyes still trained on the photo of his son. "He does."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about him as soon as I confirmed it." Molly leaned forward, eager for Sherlock to know how sincerely she meant that.

"I assume Mycroft had a hand in it," Sherlock said with a scowl on his face.

Molly hesitated. "Recently, yeah, he suggested I not tell you because of the danger from Moriarty, but before that, I just... I don't know. I was afraid. Afraid of how you would react. Afraid you would reject Archie an-"

"I would _never_ reject my son," Sherlock interrupted vehemently. He seemed slightly angry at the suggestion, and Molly tried to give him a reassuring smile.

"You're a good person Sherlock, and I know you would never purposely hurt a child. But this is _my_ child - our child," she corrected at his sharp look. She stifled a smile at his already proprietary hold on their son. "And I was just scared. Irrational maybe, with no real evidence of your interactions with children, but I'm a mum. We get irrational sometimes when our children's hearts are on the line."

Molly closed her eyes and thought about the little boy that would be joining them in a little under two hours. "I am truly _so_ sorry Sherlock."

She felt a hand on her arm and opened her eyes. Sherlock was leaning into her with an intent look. "You gave me a son Molly. A beautiful little boy who is lucky to have you. You have _nothing_ to be sorry for." He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. Letting go of her arm, Sherlock leaned back and sighed. He turned his eyes back down to the the photo in his hand. "What do I say to him? How do I interact with him?"

Molly smiled and reached across the divide to pat him on the knee. "Archie is clever and quite perceptive. He's a miniature you," she chuckled. "Just imagine yourself at his age and you'll be fine."

Sherlock picked up the telescope and examined it. "Mycroft?" He questioned with a raised brow.

"Mycroft," Molly confirmed with a nod of her head.

"I suppose we could play pirates," he said slowly with a glance at the Lego pirate ship. "I always did like playing that when I was his age."

"I know," Molly smirked, and Sherlock snorted.

A look Molly couldn't identify crossed Sherlock's face. "We can't tell him."

Molly frowned and felt anger flood her. "What do you mean we can't tell him! Sherlock, Archie needs to know who you are!"

Sherlock hung his head. "Don't you see Molly? Haven't you been paying attention recently? I am a _criminal_. I'm dead. I have to leave and go take down everything Moriarty built up, so that my friends... so that you and Archie will be safe." He looked up at Molly, who relaxed when she realized he wasn't rejecting their son. "I won't be here. I'm leaving in five days and he'll have met me to only lose me again. I can't _do_ that to him. I don't want to break his heart."

Molly finally gave into her urge to hug the man and threw herself at him. Molly held onto him even though she could feel the telescope digging into her stomach. Once she had ascertained that Sherlock would not bolt, she let go and moved to sit back down on the sofa. "Sorry," she sniffed, realizing for the first time that she was actually crying. "Just... what you said was just wonderful." She took a moment to steady her nerves while Sherlock looked uncomfortable. She barked out a laugh at how he still held the telescope pressed into his chest where she had smashed it into him.

Molly finally felt herself settle down. "Archie is smart Sherlock. He understands genetics. We will make him understand about all of this," She said firmly with a stern look as she stood up. "And Archie's birthday is in three days. You are _not_ missing another one. Okay?"

Sherlock let out a breath and stood up as well. "Okay."

"Good, now I'm going to give you the grand tour and show you everything there is to know about your son. He will be here in a little under two hours and you will feel better if you're prepared with some research." Sherlock looked down at her in surprise at her statement and Molly quirked an eyebrow. "We've been working side by side for a while now in the lab. I know how much you love research and experimentation."

Sherlock grinned and followed her to Archie's room to begin the tour.

Sherlock was in Molly's room, out of sight of the front door, as Mrs. Carlton dropped off Archie.

Archie began talking about his favorite game he played at Mrs. Carlton's, called 'Silence,' and how he had gone ten whole minutes before he lost. Molly laughed at the various ways Mrs. Carlton had for getting Archie to settle down, while she steered him to the sofa.

"Baby, mummy wants you to meet someone I brought here today." At this Archie looked around the sitting room in confusion.

"But mummy, it's just me and you," he said, tilting his head at her.

Molly blew out a breath. "No baby, he's in my room waiting for me to bring him out."

Archie frowned. "Is he your boyfriend mummy?"

"No sweetheart." Molly shook her head. "He's someone very special. He never knew who you were until I told him today okay? And mummy just found out who he is as well."

"Okay mummy," Archie said seriously. Perceptive as ever, he understood that what his mother was telling him was very important.

"Your daddy is here." Molly braced herself. With Archie, it was sometimes hard to judge how he would take difficult news.

"My daddy's here!" He shouted excitedly, "but why are you hiding him mummy? I've never got to meet my daddy before."

Molly smiled at her son as he bounced excitedly on the sofa. He had never even mentioned wanting to know his father, but he took it all so well. "Sherlock!" Molly called out. She hoped everything went as well as Archie seemed to take the news.

Sherlock slowly walked out of the hallway that led to the bedrooms. A look of apprehension was on his face, but it quickly vanished and became a smile as Archie rushed at him and threw himself at Sherlock's legs, much the same way Molly threw herself at him earlier. But with Archie, Sherlock reached down and picked up the small boy. Molly started to cry as Sherlock held his son tightly to him for the first time. Archie held him right back, and Molly cursed herself for not having her mobile ready for a picture.

Sherlock made his way over to the sofa and sat down with Archie still clinging to him. Finally, Sherlock reluctantly loosened his hold and let Archie lean back. Just as Sherlock's eyes roved over his son's face taking in every detail, Archie stared intently at Sherlock like he was a particularly interesting bug specimen. Molly couldn't wipe the grin off her face as father and son just took each other in.

"I like pirates, do you like pirates too daddy?" Archie asked, a look of excitement on his face.

Sherlock laughed and hugged the boy to him again before letting go. "I love playing pirates. It was my favorite game when I was your age."

Archie crawled out of Sherlock's lap and kneeled in front of his Lego pirate ship. "Come on daddy. We have to learn how to play together."

Molly watched as Sherlock got on the floor and began to play with their son.

After three hours of playing, well past Archie's usual bedtime, he had finally fallen asleep in Sherlock's lap. Sherlock put their son to bed for the first time and made his way to the sitting room with Molly. They stood staring at one another for the longest time. Sherlock took a step closer to Molly until there were only a few inches between them. He lifted his hand and caressed her cheek.

"Thank you for our son Molly. I- I love him." He leaned down and kissed her gently before pulling away. "Thank you for our son."

'_Our son_,' Molly thought, and she smiled. She wasn't alone anymore.

* * *

**AN**: So there will be more to come. I'll be writing at least 3 one-shots to immediately follow this, then a multi-chapter fic based on series 3. And then like the show, I'll probably take a two year hiatus.

You can either follow me or the story. I'll make sure to post an update about any one-shots onto this fic. I also have this published on AO3, so feel free to follow it there as well.


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